


as i feel myself fall (make a joke of it all)

by thedarknesswithin (babylxxrry)



Series: all that glitters is not gold [7]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but i guess promises were made to be broken, i promised there would be fluff and not angst, whoops?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/thedarknesswithin
Summary: mitch is trying, he really is.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxCat1989xx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxCat1989xx/gifts).



> lol here's i7 sorry for the wait :P  
> needed to get ahead on i8 so yall dont come for me bc i already know you will. 
> 
> cat i love u to bits <3

Mitch doesn’t stop crying for another few minutes, and Scott doesn’t stop holding him. Mitch wishes he’d stop breaking down like this, but at the present moment, he can’t help it.

Even once he _does_ stop crying, Scott keeps holding him, and Mitch savors every moment he has before Scott’s sure to push him away.

He doesn’t, though, is the thing, even after a full ten minutes of sniffles and silence.

“You okay?” Scott asks softly.

Mitch nods out of habit, pauses.

Is he okay?

He shakes his head, carefully avoiding Scott’s gaze. He’s not okay, and that’s the truth.

Mitch waits. He knows it’s coming.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Scott takes a breath in.

Five seconds.

“We need to talk.”

And there it is.

Mitch can feel his chest tightening again, his relief crumbling into dust that Scott’s about to blow away with one puff of air. He pulls back, out of the comforting warmth of Scott’s hold, feels the familiar tension buzz to his skin again, feels the clouds rolling into his mind.

He watches Scott close in too, once he leaves his arms. He sees the way the shutters fall, but it’s not in anger. It’s more… disappointment? There’s no reason Scott should be disappointed, because he shouldn’t care about what Mitch is going through. He hasn’t cared so far, so why should he now?

“Coffee first?” Mitch finds himself offering, and Scott smiles small, just a little ray of sun peeking through the clouds for a moment.

“Okay.”

Mitch rolls out of bed, shivering when his feet hit the floor. He’s still swathed in Scott’s sweater, has been ever since he got home, and he watches the realization dawn in Scott’s eyes. Scott catches himself before he reacts, so Mitch can’t tell what he’s thinking, and he sighs, turning to the door.

They make their silent way to the kitchen, and Mitch gets the Keurig going, setting out his and Scott’s mugs- a green mug with small blue hearts for Mitch and a blue mug with small green hearts for Scott. They got them when they moved in, and they’ve defaulted to using them when they have bad days to remind themselves that they’re here for each other, always.

It’s just a bit of a jolt that reminds Mitch why they’re here in this position right now. He automatically went for their bad day mugs instead of any of their other mugs. The thought tightens around his lungs, but he catches the tail end of a sad little smile from Scott, and he forces himself to take a full breath.

They’re going to be okay.

Probably.

Once they have their coffee, they somehow agree without words to sit on opposite ends of the couch, and Mitch curls himself into the corner, cupping his mug between cold hands. Scott perches on the other end, and they both take a breath to speak before stopping, looking at each other and then looking away.

“Go ahead,” Mitch says, barely loud enough to reach his own ears. He stares down at his mug, watches the little quasi-foam on the top swirl around.

“So. Um.” Scott hesitates, tapping the pads of his fingers on his mug. “Shawn and I aren’t dating.”

Mitch snorts. “Sure, okay.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Mitch.”

And Mitch wants to believe him, wants to trust that he’s telling the truth, but he can’t. He can’t convince himself that Scott’s not lying, because he’s seen the way Scott looks at Shawn. He’s seen the way Scott’s fingers linger when he brushes against Shawn. There’s no way it’s _just friends._

Scott’s face is just a little sad when Mitch refocuses on his face.

“You don’t believe me,” he whispers, and Mitch flinches. It’s one thing to think it, another entirely to hear it from Scott, who sounds so small and insecure that Mitch wants to hold him tight and never let go.

“Scotty, I-” Mitch starts, trying to make Scott not sad, trying to keep his sun shining bright.

“It’s okay, Mitch. I know you don’t believe me,” Scott cuts him off gently. “I have to tell you some things, and it’s up to you if you believe me, alright?”

Mitch nods, grip tightening on his mug, knuckles whitening. He doesn’t know where Scott’s going with this, but wherever it is, he’s not ready for it.

Scott sighs, setting his own cup down on the table. He stares down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands.

“I don’t really know how to start this, so I’m gonna talk and hope something makes sense,” Scott says quietly.

Mitch can’t help the tiny smile that finds its way onto his face. That’s such a Scott thing, and he misses it. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“So. Mitch, I know I’ve been a mess lately and we haven’t spent barely any time together lately. I know Iceland was your trip, your big dream, and I know I fucked it up, and I’m sorry, Mitchy ,I really am. I have no excuses. None that you’d accept, anyways, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m decidedly not dating Shawn. We worked that out in Iceland.”

Mitch wants to ask, wants to push for more, but he resists to let Scott finish.

“We’re not dating because of one thing, Mitch, and that one thing is something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long, long time.”

There’s a pause. This is the thick, heavy blanket of silence that Mitch hates so much. It’s like he and Scott are in a vacuum of sound, and the only thing he can hear above the blood rushing in his ears is every single one of Scott’s breaths. He’s hyperaware of the way Scott’s hands settle, the way he takes a deeper breath before he opens his mouth and speaks.

“I’m in love with you, Mitchy.”

The room shifts wildly and the silence is torn into shreds and suddenly Mitch doesn’t know what to think. The room is spinning spinning spinning and he doesn’t know if he heard what he thinks he heard, or if he was imagining it, or what the hell is happening right now. All he can tell is that he’s sitting still, too still, and his fingers are clenching and unclenching on his mug, trying to find something to hold onto.

“Baby, breathe,” Scott says, reaching out a hand to place on Mitch’s arm. Mitch snaps back to reality. Scott loves him. Scott _love loves_ him.

Mitch sets his mug down shakily.

“You love me? You’re _in_ love with _me_?” Mitch breathes. He wants to give Scott a hug, but he doesn’t know if he should. He doesn’t even know if he believes Scott yet, but he’s going to play along with this dangerous, dangerous game until he figures it out.

“I am, I’m in love with you, darling,” Scott says, eyes hopeful once again.

“Wh- Why didn’t you tell me?” Mitch gets out, tamping down the urge to jump into Scott’s arms and kiss him.

Scott sighs. “C’mere, first. I need to hold you.”

Mitch should be embarrassed about the speed at which he clambers across the sofa to press himself into Scott’s side, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. He takes a deep breath when Scott pulls him closer and if a couple of relieved tears drip onto Scott’s shirt, no one has to know.

“I didn’t tell you for a few reasons. I mean, part of it is that I didn’t even realize that I liked you until two years ago, and then I didn’t know if you liked me back,” Scott starts quietly, voice trembling.

Mitch looks up, and to his surprise, Scott’s eyes are glassy with tears.

“I’ve always loved you, Scott, ever since high school,” Mitch murmurs, thumbing away some of the tears that’ve escaped onto Scott’s cheeks. It’s not okay that his sunshine isn’t shining. Scott never deserves to be sad, _never_.

“And now that I look back, I see that. The ice cream dates that meant more to you than me. The movies and the sleepovers and the study sessions and the lunches and the dinners and the naps, all of it meant more to you than to me then. I’m so stupid, Mitchy. I’ve been hurting you for so long.”

“Scott, you haven’t been hurting me,” Mitch tries, the lie sitting heavy in his mouth.

“You’re lying, Mitch. I’ve been hurting you because I’m a fucking idiot, and I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

Mitch still doesn’t know whether he believes Scott, and he knows it shows on his face even though he doesn’t mean to. Scott seems to read that doubt on Mitch’s face in the silence that follows, and he pulls his arm off from around Mitch’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Mitch. I know you don’t believe me. It’s okay,” Scott says thickly, and Mitch’s eyes widen when he realizes Scott’s about to cry.

“Wait, Scott,” Mitch sits up as Scott pushes himself off the couch, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Mitch, it’s okay.” Scott chokes out a strangled sob, grabbing his keys and his jacket and his phone. “It’s okay, I’ll go. I know you don’t believe me.”

“Sco-” Mitch half-stands, like that’s going to do anything to stop Scott. He’s cut off by the front door closing softly. There’s muffled, heart-wrenching sob from the other side of the door and Mitch’s chest _aches_. A car door slams, an engine starts. A pause, and then Scott’s car is slowly backing out, like he doesn’t really want to go.

Mitch sinks slowly back down onto the couch, too still again. He can feel the buzzing coming back, the shades being drawn, throwing his head back into the dark. He’s dizzy again, but not the good kind like earlier. It’s the nauseating dizzy, the dizzy that makes him want to bury himself in Scott’s bed and never let go.

Numbly, he stands and gathers his things from Scott’s room, shedding the sweatshirt into the laundry, grabbing one of his own and locking himself in his room. His phone sits charging on his nightstand decidedly free of notifications, and he slips the sweatshirt on. It’s not as soft as Scott’s, not as warm. He pulls the duvet over his shoulders like a cape, and it’s not as comfortable, not as cozy. He sits on his bed, staring at his journal in front of him, open to the page with his old poem on it.

What has he done?

He pushed Scott away because he was too scared.

He pushed Scott away because he didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust _Scott_ , the most honest, open person he knows.

He pushed his best friend away because he was trying to protect himself.

He pushed his sun away.

He pushed his everything away.

He pushed his Home away.

What _the fuck_ has he done?

 

 

 

 

-fin.

**Author's Note:**

> DONT KILL ME I KNOW ITS UPSETTING AND IT WAS ALSO KIND OF MESSY IN TERMS OF FLOW DONT HURT ME D:  
> COMMENT OR KUDOS IF U WANT TO KILL ME BUT DONT HUNT ME DOWN PLS i8 IS COMING I PROMISE


End file.
